


Risk

by jamaillith



Category: DCU, Iron Man (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-12
Updated: 2009-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-04 09:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamaillith/pseuds/jamaillith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Tony Stark were a girl? What if her best friends in the whole world were Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Risk

It's New Year's Eve, 1973. Tony's wearing a dress that used to belong to her mother: black, with heavy skirts, but it exposes the long slope of her back, paints smooth lines along the valleys and crescents of her breasts, so she doesn't mind. She leans against the balcony wall and watches the fireworks blush and flare over the Hudson, her fingers toying with the stem of her champagne glass.

Bruce Wayne's hand is cool and soft. He presses his palm into the shallow inlet where fabric meets skin and joins her at the wall. His jacket smells like pipe smoke.

"I think we've lost Clark," he tells her, his thumb describing an arc of ascent along her spine. Tony calculates the trajectory, hypothesises the angle of impact, and decides she can take the risk.

"It's his fault for being so damn good-looking," she replies, putting a little Clark Gable (frankly, my dear) on the last few words. It's weak, but Bruce smiles anyway, and his touch disappears from between her shoulder blades. He turns and settles his hips against the stonework. Digs in his jacket pocket and pulls out a battered pack of cigarettes. Offers her one. She accepts, and he cups his hand around the flame of his Zippo lighter. She smokes, Bruce notices, like a man: thumb and forefinger, like she's only got so long before she has to stub it out under the heel of her shoe and go back to work.

"How did it go?" She asks him.

Bruce raises one shoulder in a shrug, holding the lighter to the end of his own cigarette. Shaking it closed, he glances back towards the open doors, the glass-walled country of light and laughter from which they have been exiled. Or have exiled themselves.

"I think they still look at me and all they see is money. My father's money." He pauses, and Tony silently considers the side of his face. "Williamson wants to see a prototype by the end of the month."

"Let me have it."

Bruce looks at her. "Tony -- "

"I mean it. Let me have it."

"We've talked about this."

"Fuck you, Bruce. I'll have you flying that damn thing over the Grand Canyon within a fortnight and you know it." She makes a fustrated noise. She's too tired, too drunk, too cold. She takes a final drag on her cigarette then lets it drop, grinding it under the toe of her shoe until there's nothing left except shreds of white paper. She reaches out and grabs Bruce's hand.

"Come on, you asshole, let's go rescue Clark."


End file.
